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Category Archives: confidence

Kenny was a good-looking guy. He was very shy and a bit plump until he got into his teens. At about fifteen, he began to acquire a man’s physique, and the ‘cute kid’ look to his face morphed into one of the most handsome faces most women would ever see… and some would never forget. His face was oval, and his features were well defined, but not so sharply as to consider it ‘chiselled’. He remained shy.

He actually did not realize that not all young men had an easy time getting dates and girlfriends. Added to his personal appeal, he was wealthy as well. He drove a Cadillac sedan for utility and a Chev Corvette for fun. He was a part of a group of eighteen to twenty year olds who lived the same part of the city. The girls and guys in the group were of more or less middle class families, except for Kenny’s, which was upper middle.

Kenny married young, at the extreme urging of his mother. Kenny had an adventurous spirit, and had sought excitement in some dangerous ways. He had done some cliff climbing in Montana, wilderness camping and canoeing, sometimes in winter, and began hang-gliding in the Sierras. His mother lured him home with the gift of a perfectly restored, pearlescent white Jaguar XK120. Once home, he was carefully led to encounter his former high-school sweetheart, Bonnie.

Bonnie was the ‘nice girl’ in high school, and Kenny wanted a nice girl. He was sensitive to the thought of ‘his girl’ having sex with another boy – or girl, perhaps. Bonnie was pretty, slender, and simple. Her mother was a gentle ‘stay at home’ and her father was a handsome, shy fruit and vegetable vendor. He and his older brother learned the trade from their father, and continued the trade after the old man retired. Kenny’s car cost almost as much as Bonnie’s home, but that meant nothing to Kenny. Bonnie was the kind of nice girl he wanted.

Bonnie’s parents were terribly intimidated by the sumptuous wedding – paid for by Kenny’s parents, of course. The marriage went on as marriages often do, for seventeen years and produced two children. For the duration, Bonnie remained, as always, nice, if a bit cold toward intimacy. At the same time, Kenny’s spirit led him to seek adventure in all things. He provided well for his family, and raced cars, raced boats, and enjoyed risks.

The marriage dissolved amicably, and Kenny enjoyed a period of promiscuity very much. He had been in the marriage cage for almost two decades, and he burst out of it like a rodeo bronc, leaping from the gate. He had been lusting after a girl in the office, a temp named Brenda, in the steno pool. He began an affair with Brenda. They moved in together in a neat apartment near the water. Life was fun, and centered on lots of good sex.

Gradually, Kenny began to see the flaws in Brenda. He learned from her that she had been a stripper, and actually preferred to do that. She was just taking a break from ‘dancing’ as she called it, by taking the office job. Kenny began to notice some behaviour that looked to him like she was a sociopath. She seemed impervious to having feelings for anyone else at any time. She returned to exotic dancing.

She didn’t need the money, of course. Kenny was supporting them both in high style. She just liked to show herself because she was a severe exhibitionist. She most often ‘danced’ at a strip theatre rather than bars. She felt that in bars, she was just a bit of entertainment on the side while the folks came to talk and drink. In the theatre, the only reasons the people are there is to see the dancers. In bars, total nudity was not legal, but in the theatre, she could be totally nude and even show her private parts. Brenda liked that better.

One night, when Brenda got home, Kenny smelled another man on her. He began to work off his feelings, getting her out of his system. On another occasion, she had sex with a man that is a public figure, seen on a daily television show. She was happy to tell Kenny about it when she got home. Thereafter, she began to watch the man’s show, which she had never done before. That helped Kenny to turn off his feelings toward her. He spent two weeks finding her a cheap place to live, took her belongings to her parents’ home, and was done with her. He understood that she was a sociopath.

Kenny set off on another period of pleasurable promiscuity. He dated beautiful women, single mothers, elegant professionals, doctors and lawyers. On one occasion, Kenny was featured in a newspaper story and a television newscast. A woman had asked him to accompany her to a very grand opening of a Broadway show. She was Mrs. Carter, older than Kenny, and the widow of high society’s highest highbrow. They made the media light up, as the society lady and her arm candy.

She picked him up in her Grosser Mercedes, with George, the Danish driver, at the wheel. They arrived at the theatre amid the swarm of fashionable ladies and conservative gentlemen. As show time drew near, people began to turn toward the theatre entrance. Mrs. Carter was feeling a chill in the evening air so Kenny took her up the wide steps ahead of the others. At the top step, Kenny saw Brenda facing him. She looked bad. Her hair was multi-coloured and a tangled mess. She wore a white coat that he had bought for her, and it was stained and dirty.

“Brenda!” Kenny said. “What are you…”

Brenda took her right hand out of her coat pocket. It held a small handgun. She aimed at Kenny’s forehead. He was only a few feet from her. She pulled the trigger. He died.

I used to visit a chiropractor once in a while. It helped me a little, but my payments to him helped him a lot. One day, David was grumbling that he might have been tricked by an Orthodox Rabi that came to the door. He said he was raising money to send poor Jewish kids to Orthodox summer camp.

After he had made a donation and the bearded man had left, David began to squirm inside himself. He got it into his head that the guy was just making his own living, going door to door in Jewish neighbourhoods. David was not a totally together guy, and I wanted to help him get over his frustration over a problem that might not exist.

I have often been the victim of some kind, as have most of us. We get cheated on car repairs, or pay more than we should for a toaster or something like that. I simply told David something I long-since realized: The Victim is not The Sinner. The perpetrator, the victimizer, in other words, has done wrong. The victim has done no wrong and can live as a good person. The sinner will have to settle for ill-gotten gains… a feeble reward compared the feeling of being good and right.

The boy turned fourteen so his mother held a small family party. It was just dinner, no cake and ice cream; it seems fourteen is beyond that. My use of the word ‘mismatched’ is the best I could think of to examine this group of individuals. ‘Mismatched’ doesn’t necessarily mean each pair of people is mismatched, although they might well be.

Each guest is somehow not a match to the others. To begin with, I am the oldest of the family group – the eight plus one – that gathered for the… uh… party. I mismatch most everyone there: I’m the only Jew, I’m second generation Canadian, I’m not related by blood to anyone else there and I’m married to a Hungarian woman who is the mother of the Hungarian husband of the birthday boy’s mother. The boy is from a previous relationship his mother was in. He was noticeably uninterested in the celebration of his birthday.

The boy is related to his mother but not to her husband. The husband is related to my wife but not to me. That is not to say that the husband and I are not close. We are. Still, you can see some of the mismatch, even with me having gone to Budapest to marry my love by the River Danube. It is my fourth marriage and by far the best

Another individual at the gathering was my favourite, the five-year-old half-sister of the boy, born of his mother and her husband, the son of my wife. She is my granddaughter even without blood. While her parents pursued their careers, my wife (her actual grandmother) and I raised her every day until she was through preschool. Since then, she is with us from about four in the afternoon until six or seven when we deliver her to her parents’ home, a couple of blocks away. She’s a joy, and I’m determined to live to near one hundred so I can watch her become something great. She draws, dances, sings and speaks English, French, and Hungarian and has begun Spanish.

The boy and his half-sister have grandfathers by blood, but they are relatively uninterested in them. There is another grandmother as well – the mother of the mother of the boy and the little half-sister. She is no longer married to the father of the boy’s mother. She has been living for some time with a tall, bearded German gentleman who clearly doesn’t understand children. Their grandmother does understand because she was a teacher. But she’s cold, as is her daughter, the mother of the boy and little girl.

The ‘Plus One” is a blood grandfather, the ex-husband of the other grandmother and father of the mother of the two kids. He’s a small, pale, whispery creep who, although educated as an engineer, lives on welfare in a basement where he makes model planes. He means nothing to the kids.

The remaining grandfather is the ex-husband of my wife and father of the little girl’s father, my stepson. He was not at the gathering because he’s a hermit and never goes out. He’s an educated chemist, and he lives alone in a one-room flat and eats Sara Lee cakes and drinks a bit of Heineken.

My own children decided to not have children as it would interfere with their personal lives. I’m happy for them, although I would have loved to have grand-kids. Now, thanks to my stepson and his wife, I’ve been given the opportunity to pass myself on to this brilliant little girl. I have been dedicated to her since the day she was born. I love her, and she loves me. She says I’m her only grandpa, and we both know what she means.

I rarely engage in arguments. I prefer to let the adversary talk it out. However, if I am maneuvered into an argument, I present my points as clearly as possible. I also listen carefully to my adversary’s points, and I genuinely try to accept their points if I possibly can. I don’t cling to my own preference for fear it might blind me to a convincing point on the part of my adversary.

The best part of all is on those occasions when I am convinced of my adversary’s point of view and can comfortably adopt it. I am glad to have lost the argument because I gained the insight that corrects my point of view. I see that my view was inaccurate before I changed my view.

My adversary has actually lost, because they did not learn from my points as I learned from theirs. Had I convinced my adversary, I would have not learned a new view, while they gained by accepting the more accurate points that I presented.

That person at work, or at the bank, or across the street from your home, is always on your mind. Perhaps he’s a man you met at a meeting, or a woman you met at a dinner party. Perhaps you are eager for dinner at a new restaurant. You anticipate great things when you look forward to a date with this attractive person.

You might have to face an irate client or an auto repair bill. One might need to travel, by plane, train or bus and hate it. One might have to break off a relationship or fire an employee. Anticipation of these dark times can be emotionally disturbing.

The fact is, the anticipation is always far more intense than is the reality. You are almost trembling, anticipating a most enjoyable time with the person to whom you’ve been attracted. You do, in fact enjoy the evening… but not to the lofty level that you had anticipated.

You might anticipate a painful time with an irate client, or fear facing a frightening, unexpected bill. You suffer discomfort, knowing you have to terminate an employee or travel a long way on a bad carrier. Again, anticipation is heavier than the reality. The client is easily satisfied with some attention, the bill is less than you feared it might be and the train ride was comfortable and uneventful.

Looking forward to good and looking forward to bad, in either case, the reality will be less intense than was the level of anticipation.

Now I anticipate watching the Formula One Spanish Grand Prix during this weekend. I hope the race is as intense as is my anticipation

It’s one of the many things that I don’t understand about women. I do understand woman better than do most men, but there remains many mysteries, thank goodness. For me, making love should be a long, slow evolution of caresses and kisses mounting gradually toward the woman’s massive climax. That orgasm can be very full because of the tender preparation by her lover.

Rough sex, as it’s called, is a mystery to me. Often in television dramas, two people are hungry for each other and charge into the sex space shedding clothing and frantically clutching at each other. How does anyone find that stimulating. I find it stupid.

The worst words a man like me can hear are, “We can always be friends.” I’ve heard that only from women that want rough sex and were dissatisfied with my gentle ways. On one occasion a lover asked me for anal penetration. She said that she was always interested in experiencing it but feared it would be painful, and felt that my tender ways would enable her to enjoy it without pain.

Too many of my lovers have complained about the crude approach of many men. They hurry to penetration and orgasm. I don’t understand that. When the man has his orgasm, it signals the end of the fun. I don’t want it to end and I don’t care if I have no orgasm. It’s a damn mess anyway. An eager, loving application of experienced cunnilingus can deliver a woman of several orgasms. After that, a final, mutual orgasm through penetration can bring sleep before a shower together and an evening out.

This endless thing between men and women takes many varied forms. With some exceptions, a man wants a woman. Also with some exceptions, a woman wants to be wanted by a man. This seems like a very workable setup… but it isn’t, and I don’t know why.

I’m old now, so I know a lot of stuff. I didn’t age in a simple, secure way, so my adventures have shown me much about a wide variety of subjects. I have been tormented by the typical male animal need to mate with as many females as possible. I’ve enjoyed my success, and so did my lovers, I believe.

Sometimes, while walking my dog or sitting in my car at a traffic light, I see a person that appears to be unattractive. He might be obese and red-faced. She might be shuffling along in tacky garments, grey faced with depression. I say to myself, “Did that person ever experience the feeling of being desired?” Probably not, I conclude, but then why stay alive?

Whenever I have been desired by a woman and enjoying the comfortable intimacy, I have thought to myself how splendid it is. How wonderful that this lovely, fragrant person shares herself with me as I do with her. We make love with each other, not to each other. I’m sad for anyone that has not enjoyed that feeling frequently in life.

It happens so often to people who have lived a simple life until fame and fortune are foisted upon them. One must be of a certain nature and character to be comfortable as a subject of intense interest by millions of strangers. Managing sudden wealth is also a stressful chore. For one thing, one becomes inundated by vultures begging donations for medical needs, for charities, for inventions, for anything you can imagine. For those generous souls who fund friends and relatives, loneliness comes soon. The recipients of the generosity shamefacedly avoid their benefactor.

Poor Susan Boyle, the singing sensation who went from zero to miracle after an appearance on “Britain’s Got Talent”. The simple, impoverished frump has been primped and painted, pushed and led into a busy life that is totally unlike any she had ever known. As a result, some imbalance occurs. Now, poor Susan Boyle is cracking from pressure, being ushered out of airports for irrational behavior.

If unexpected wealth comes your way, tread carefully and wisely as you progress in your life.

I suppose most ‘plain’ people are aware of the way attractive people get things easily. Beginning in our teens, the good-looking guys easily get dates and girlfriends. Many times, the handsome guy might not realize that not every guy gets girls or jobs or deals more easily then guys of plain looks. We get what we get in life, and it’s foolhardy to make comparisons with others. Be assured, they also have their bag of dung to carry.

Receptionists give you tips on who’s in and who’s out in the office. Waitresses and flight attendants give you extra whatever, and cashiers flirt with you.

For women, I think it must be different. Most men desire sex almost all the time. Nature makes the male that way. That means that most women are being observed as a possible lover almost all the time. An attractive woman is always aware of the interest in her by the surrounding males. For less attractive women there are less attractive men, so they get attention as well.

Some advice for attractive men and women: avoid depending on your physical appearance too much. It is not permanent, and will decay. However, if you also develop your character and personality, it doesn’t matter about looks. Real beauty comes from within, so be beautiful no matter how you look.

It’s remarkable that Shakespeare’s writing is still held in high esteem. Personally, I don’t know why, especially as it’s in an ancient form of the English language that is difficult to grasp. Still, it would be a spectacular success to have one’s work honoured so long after it was created.

The most important success of one’s writing, however, is if it lives on in the minds of the reader. I created a children’s television series in 1970, designed the characters and settings, wrote every episode and virtually directed most of them. I stopped after two years, but the series continued to air for about thirty years, from The Atlantic to The Pacific across Canada. Many children were able to see things that I hoped they’d see.

My daughter works backstage in movies and television. She told me of a time when she had a young assistant and she happened to mention that her father made the series, “The Waterville Gang”. The girl became excited, telling Robyn that she had learned all her life’s values from that show, when she was a child.

Perfect! That’s exactly what motivated me to create the show and work for a year, trying to get it produced. Finally, CTV accepted it. Now I know that there might be millions of people travelling through their lives, making decisions based on information they took in from my writings when they were children.

Their children will receive the same information, passed on from my words, to their parents, and then on to them. I’m satisfied.